Sandman (13 page)

His mother stood, then picked him up. After laying him on the bed, she ran to the door and closed it. Then she pushed the dresser in front of the door, grunting and groaning until it was in place.

At last she joined him on the bed. He felt the side of his face, there was blood by his ear. He couldn’t stop crying. She took him in her arms and rocked him.

“Shh, it’s all right, Mommy’s got you.” She stroked his hair. “Shh, he’s gone now.” She sounded like she was crying too.

***

The man jolted awake. He was hugging his pillow, his heart raced. He jumped off the bed, reached under the mattress and found what he was searching for. The Polaroids of his girls.

He lay back down on the bed and began scanning the pictures. With each girl, a different memory came, a different experience. Soon his heartbeat resumed a normal rhythm, and peace washed over him.

By the time he reached the freshest kill, he had a major hard-on. He shoved the rest of the pictures under his pillow, and held the last one up to his face. The memory had faded; he couldn’t taste her fear like before. He gazed at her image as he masturbated. It took longer to come than usual.

He thought about his newest conquest. Although her hair was not nearly long enough, she did have everything else going for her. It was time to claim her. He fell asleep with her image in his head.

TWENTY-TWO

Thomas called the captain the second he got off the phone with Wyatt. He ran down everything his brother had told him, and got permission to drive up to Alameda and interview the parents of the first victim.

Then he called Shadowhawk and told her to pack a bag. The drive was seven to nine hours depending on traffic, so they would probably be spending the night. He would fill her in on the road.

Last he called the San Francisco Sheriff’s Department, spoke to the detective in charge of the Cynthia Gross case, and brought him up to speed on the investigation.

Thomas stood in front of the mirror shaving when he noticed his pallor looked more normal and his eyes were no longer bloodshot. It was as if he were greeting an old friend.

He zipped up Pacific Coast Highway to Huntington Beach, and knocked on the front door to what he thought was Shadowhawk’s house until it swung open and a young Hispanic boy of about seven stared up at him. Thomas looked at the house number again to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake.

“Hello.” The boy’s voice a high falsetto. “You must be the detective. Come on in.” He moved aside and Thomas stepped into the foyer. “He’s here!”

Shadowhawk appeared at the top of the stairs wearing black jeans, a tight grey t-shirt and a shiny black vest. He noticed she had a Native American tribal tattoo circling her left arm just below the sleeve. Her jet-black hair hung loose around her shoulders. Thomas realized she was a striking woman.

“I’ll be right down,” she said to him, then turned to the boy. “Thanks, Dylan. Now go finish your homework.” She disappeared down the hall.

Dylan pointed to the living room. “You can sit on the couch; she always says that and then takes another hour to come down.”

“Thanks for the insight, buddy. It’s a girl thing.” Thomas sat down and got comfortable.

“Yeah, like I don’t know that. It’s tough being the only man in this house.” The boy frowned. “Between my sister, my mom and Fawn, it takes
forever
for us to go
anywhere
.” His voice raised dramatically on the last word. He sat on the floor cross-legged at the coffee table in front of his homework.

Thomas laughed. “You might as well get used to it. When it comes to women, you’ll be dealing with it your whole life.”

“Oh, jeez.” Dylan put his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands.

Thomas stifled a laugh. Even though the kid was hilarious, it was obvious he wasn’t trying to be. He heard someone coming down the stairs and looked up. It was Shadowhawk. She carried a grey blazer over her arm, and an overnight bag in her hand. Her hair was tied back in her usual French braid. Thomas stood.

A petite Hispanic woman followed close behind. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Shadowhawk introduced Thomas to her partner, Maria. Then she gave her a peck on the lips.

“I’ll call you tonight.” She turned to Thomas, “Okay, let’s go.”

Thomas slapped the boy on the shoulder. “Hang in there, buddy. Us men have got to stick together.”

The boy puffed up his chest and smiled. “Yeah.”

They got in the car and were silent until they reached the freeway. “What was that all about?” Shadowhawk asked.

“That kid cracks me up. He was commiserating with me about being the only man in a house full of women.”

She smiled. “Yeah, he’s a great kid. I’m lucky.”

“He mentioned a sister, is she yours?”

“No, they’re both Maria’s, but I love them as if they were my own. They’ve been in my life for the last six years. Hesper is thirteen, and Dylan is ten.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Wow, I took him for seven, eight tops.”

“He’s small for his age.”

He filled her in on the call from Wyatt and they discussed what they were hoping to find in the Bay area. They hit traffic going through L.A., then drove through a McDonald’s in Santa Clarita for lunch.

After he’d swallowed his last french fry, he turned to Shadowhawk. “So what made you join the sheriff’s department?”

“One night I had a run-in with a homophobic cop. Maria and I were minding our own business, walking down the pier at sunset. Dylan and Hesper were much younger then, they ran ahead of us. And this asshole in a uniform came at us and told us we can’t hold hands in public. I told him we could do whatever we wanted, this is America. Well, one thing led to another, and he arrested me for assaulting a cop.”

“Did you?”

“I may have shoved him a little. Anyway, the charges were dropped. But the whole time I was sitting in that cell I was thinking: here’s this guy who has nothing better to do than hassle us while real criminals are out there breaking the law. So I figured there should be someone doing
his
job.”

“So, that was what, five years ago?”

“Give or take.”

“Was it hard? I mean, being a woman and all. I hear it can be tough until you prove yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I took some shit at first. I was just a dumb rookie trying to do everything by the book. But that changed soon enough.”

“What happened?”

“I came across that same asshole, and he started giving me shit. I heard he had six months to go until his retirement, so I decided to make it a six months he’d never forget.

“One night, when everyone was pretty much gone, I took his picture down from the Wall of Fame. I scanned the photo and e-mailed it to myself. Then I Photoshopped his face on some gay porn. I paid this buddy of mine from the academy to get me his locker number. Then I crept into the locker room around three a.m., when it was empty. I picked the lock and pasted the pictures all around the inside.

“The next morning the locker room was full. He opens his locker and yells, “What the fuck!” The idiot drew attention to the photos
himself.
I hear all the guys in the room were crowding around him to see what he was making such a fuss about. By the time he noticed he had an audience, he slammed the door, but it was too late.

“It made him a laughing stock. And I got my retribution.” She beamed at Thomas. “I just wish I could have been there to see his face. Man, that would have been priceless.” She laughed.

“Anyway, to make a long story longer, rumors spread that I was the culprit. I vehemently denied it, of course. But no one screwed with me after that.”

“Holy shit. That was you?” He laughed. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

She grew serious. “Yeah, well, he deserved it.” She looked out the windshield. “It takes a lot to piss me off.”

TWENTY-THREE

The detectives arrived at the Gross family home that afternoon. They were led into a small living room that had last been decorated sometime in the early seventies, and sat on a well-worn brown and orange floral couch.

Mr. and Mrs. Gross sat opposite in brown vinyl chairs conspicuously dotted with duct tape, no doubt covering age-old rips in the fabric. The brown shag carpet was worn flat in paths that ran in and out of the room from years of travel. Pictures of the victim at every age graced the hearth, the piano and the walls of the room.

Man and wife looked worn out. Life had hit them with a heavy blow. The image was nothing new to Thomas; all he had to do was look in the mirror.

“I’m sorry to have to put you through this again. We just have a few questions regarding your daughter,” Thomas said.

“Did you find the man who killed my baby?” Mrs. Gross’ voice shook as she wrung her hands.

“No, ma’am, but we’re working on it,” Thomas answered.

“I don’t understand, what do you people have to do with my daughter’s death? It’s been years without a word. Now you show up out of the blue from San Clemente? Where the hell is that?” Mr. Gross stared at Thomas.

“It’s sandwiched between San Diego and Los Angeles, sir.”

“My point exactly. What could you possibly know about Cindy’s case?” Mr. Gross’ voice was hard.
“Well, sir, we believe your daughter may have been just one in a long series of murders.” Thomas’s voice was soft.

“Oh!” Mrs. Gross covered her mouth with her hand.

Her husband patted her arm. “Norma, honey, why don’t you go into the kitchen and get us some coffee?” He watched his wife leave the room, then turned to Thomas.

“As you can see, this is very hard on my wife. Cindy was our only child. We had her late in life. She was a miracle baby. Norma had several miscarriages before she was finally able to carry Cindy to full term.

“The birth was very difficult on her. The doctor advised us not to have any more children. Cindy’s death has drained the life out of my poor wife. So let’s just get this over with.” Mr. Gross looked spent by the time he’d finished speaking.

“Certainly, we understand. We’ll try to do this as painlessly as possible. Mr. Gross, can you give us a rundown of Cindy’s friends at the time of the incident?”

“She had only one friend.”

“And what was her name?” Thomas waited, pen at the ready.

“Roxanne. They met in high school and later worked together.”

“Do you know Roxanne’s last name?” Shadowhawk joined the conversation.

“Um, no.”

“And where did they work?”

“Some catalog company down town. I can’t think of the name right now. I’m sorry.”

“Did Cindy have a boyfriend?”

“No, she was shy. She didn’t date.”

Mrs. Gross entered the room carrying a tray containing four cups of coffee, a sugar bowl and a creamer. She set the tray down on the coffee table and asked everyone to help themselves. The detectives each selected a cup and thanked her. Mrs. Gross added cream and sugar to a cup and handed it to her husband.

She then sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. The last cup sat alone on the tray. Her eyes fixed on the steam rising into the air.

Mr. Gross turned toward his wife. “Hon, what was the name of the company that Cindy worked for?”

“The Frisco Bay Clothing Company?”

“That’s right.” He glanced at Thomas, then Shadowhawk. “Don’t ever get old. The mind is the first to go.” He gave a nervous laugh.

Shadowhawk caught Mrs. Gross’s eye. “Do you remember her friend Roxanne’s last name?”

The woman was quiet a moment.

“Hanover, that’s it. Roxanne Hanover.”

“Would you happen to have her address and phone number?” Shadowhawk continued.

The woman scrunched up her face. “Oh, dear, I don’t know. I…” She put her head down and fidgeted.

Her husband leaned over and placed a hand on her knee. “It’s okay, honey, they’re detectives. They can find it.”

“Right, no need to worry about that,” Thomas interjected.

“Would it be possible for us to take a look in Cindy’s room?” Shadowhawk asked.

A brief silence ensued as Mr. Gross gazed at his wife.

“I guess that would be okay.” Her voice was barely audible. She unfolded her hands and gingerly pushed herself out of the chair.

They followed her up the stairs. She stopped in front of a room at the top of the landing and stared at the closed door. Mr. Gross came up beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s all right, Norma. They won’t disturb a thing.” He fixed his gaze on Thomas, who nodded. The man let out a pent-up breath.

“We’ll only be a moment,” Thomas added.

The detectives passed the couple and walked into the room. Thomas flipped on the light and eased the door shut behind them.

They stopped inside the door to take in their surroundings. The room did not appear to belong to a young woman; instead it held more of a childlike quality. The décor was in pink and white ruffles, including the canopy over the bed. The furniture was white with gold trim.

Stuffed animals littered a shelf along the bookcase. A few sat decorating the bed. Thomas ran a finger across the dresser and found it clean, no dust. Obviously Mrs. Gross visited this room on a regular basis. There were no posters, ribbons or trophies. Instead, pictures of ballerinas graced the walls.

“Jesus, they spared no expense in here,” she exclaimed.

“Every little girl’s dream.” Thomas’s hand stroked one of the pictures.

“Not mine,” Shadowhawk corrected.

“And what did
you
want to be when you grew up?”

“A race car driver.” She stared at him with her hands on her hips.

“Of course you did.” He smiled.

Shadowhawk zeroed in on the computer sitting on a desk against the far wall. The moment it powered up, she began scanning the contents. Thomas finished touring the room.

Thomas opened drawers, lifted clothes, and checked between the layers to see if anything was hidden.

He heard drawers slamming behind him, and turned around.